Dreamers Often Lie (13 page)

There was a little stir when we all strutted out onto the dance floor. Some people pointed and stared. A few came up to us, laughing, complimenting. Most of them ignored us completely.

Standing around on a crowded gym floor in heavy costumes got dull pretty fast. I can’t remember if it was one of the cousins who suggested the next part, or if it was Nikki, or if it was just something that happened because we were bored and restless and tired of being noticed and not noticed at the same time. I just remember that it was already dark when we crept out of the gym and through the side doors onto the athletic field. Anders led the way across the grass, his papier-mâché branches rattling softly. A stack of crates was propped against the back of the field house,
and suddenly we were all climbing up onto the broad tarpapered roof.

We lay down on our backs and stared up at the night sky. Above us, the stars were small and white as spilled sugar. The fuzz of the rabbit suit tickled my neck. One of the cousins took out a little tin box and some rolling papers, and we all passed the first joint around. The smoke seemed to swell inside of me until my lungs ripped like cotton batting. Tom had some cigarettes and a bunch of tiny plastic bottles of brandy, all stolen from his stepdad, and soon I was floating, and the stars were cycling gently, and we were all laughing, and I don’t know if it was the smoke or the brandy or just being together at night on top of the school field house in a bunch of ridiculous costumes, and then the police came.

The next hour is a blur. The entire crowd from the dance—all the students and teachers and chaperones—lining up to stare while the officers questioned us. Police lights strobing with the music that still poured out the doors. Red and blue flashes on Tom’s fabric scales, Nikki’s wings, my own fuzzy white feet. Tom’s mom and stepdad. Nikki’s mother. My father coming to pick me up. The terrifyingly silent drive back to the house.

All at once, the whole night seemed impossible. I couldn’t really be sitting next to my dad in the front seat of the car, with a brain full of mist and stars, wearing a white rabbit suit. I could hear Dad breathing beside me. Like a
dragon. If he’d turned toward me and started yelling then, I’d have been crackled up in a rush of fire.

But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything.

Somehow that was worse.

When we pulled into the driveway, Dad still hadn’t spoken. He got out of the car without looking at me. I followed him inside, keeping my eyes fixed on the tight, straight line of his back, feeling like my own feet weren’t quite touching the ground.

Mom was waiting in the living room. Her eyes flicked between the two of us. “Go up to your room,” she said.

I shuffle-floated up the steps. Shut inside, I took off the rabbit suit and hung it awkwardly over the back of my chair. Its fur smelled like smoke. Then I sat down on the very edge of my bed, like it didn’t belong to me.

My parents’ voices simmered softly through the door. I couldn’t decipher any words—just the low, angry thrum of Dad’s, and the higher, almost inaudible tone of Mom’s. Eventually things got quiet. A few minutes passed before I heard the thud of the front door.

I got up, swaying slightly, and went to the window. In the patches of light beneath the streetlamps, I could see Dad in his running clothes, flying up the sidewalk, dwindling quickly out of sight.

My heart rocketed up into my head.

He was leaving. I’d pushed him away. It was too late to catch him; he was already gone.

I scrambled back down the steps.

Mom looked up, startled, as I raced into the kitchen.

“Where is Dad going?”

“He needed a run.” Mom turned back to the dishes in the sink. “It’ll help calm him down.”

“Oh.” I hung on to the doorframe. My heart was still torn loose, knocking around somewhere in my skull. “So . . . what’s going to happen?”

Mom’s lips were tight. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Am I grounded?”

“Jaye—”

“Am I? Please, just tell me.”

“Yes. You’re grounded. No visitors. No phone. No after-school activities.”

“For how long?”

“A while, Jaye.”

“What about the play?”

Mom sighed, bracing her hands on either side of the sink. “Your dad thinks you should be done with that too.”

“What?”
Don’t scream. Calm. Mature. Head spinning. Heart floating.
“But everybody—Mom—the show’s only three weeks away.”

“After what you kids did tonight, you’ll be lucky if the school lets any of you participate. Did you even think about that before you made these great choices?”

Of course not. My stomach writhed. “Mom, please . . .”

Mom lifted one hand, not looking at me. “Stop. I’m not doing this with you. And your dad feels even more strongly than I do.”

“When will he be back?”

Mom stared down into the dirty water. She let out a long, slow breath. “A while.”

I hurried through the living room, out the front door, and sat down on the top of the porch steps. The night had gone pitch-black. I had no idea how late it was, but the air felt cold and wet, and the streetlights shut out all but the very brightest stars.

After a few minutes, I started to shiver. I wasn’t sure if it was cold or anticipation. But I wasn’t going to go inside to get a sweater and risk missing the moment when Dad jogged up the driveway, risk having him
not
find me here, looking humble and cold and sad and small. I wanted him to see me shiver.

It seemed to take forever. I started to wonder if maybe he wasn’t going to come back at all. If running until he wasn’t angry at me anymore would take him all the way out of the state, find him still racing along at daylight, somewhere far away. But at last I heard the soft slap of shoes on the sidewalk, turning up into our driveway. His gray
WILSON HS TRACK
T-shirt flickered through the shadows. His breathing, still fiery, but steady now, came closer.

He jogged up to the steps, stopping a few paces away
from me. In the yellow glow of the streetlights, I could see tiny wisps of heat rising from him, floating out with each breath.

He didn’t say anything.

I waited for a second. “Dad . . . I’m really sorry.”

A stiff nod.

“I won’t ever do anything like that again.”

He didn’t even nod this time. He picked up his left foot, stretching his quads. I thought I heard him give a snort, but it might just have been an exhalation.

I put on my most mature voice.
Meryl Streep.
Plus a little Julia Roberts, for charm. “I totally agree that you should ground me.”

Now I heard the snort. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“But I’m . . . please . . .” I swallowed the panic. “
Please
let me stay in the play. Please. Not for me. I’d be letting everybody else down.”

Between breaths, Dad’s voice was low. Sharp. Hard. “What do you think you did tonight?”

“I . . .”

“And since when do you worry about ‘everybody else’? When do you worry about
anybody
else?”

I felt my mouth fall open, but my brain was still too fuzzy to put the right words in it.

Dad dropped his left foot and picked up the other. He wasn’t looking directly at me, I realized, like he didn’t even want to touch me with his eyes. “Do you know how
many strings I’ll have to pull to keep you from getting suspended? Or expelled?” His jaw rippled. His voice got even lower. “Don’t you get enough attention? Now you have to get caught by the police, on drugs, on a rooftop, in a rabbit costume, in front of the entire school? What kind of statement are you trying to make?”

“I’m not—it’s—it was just a mistake.”

“Yeah, it was. And you’ve been making plenty of those lately. Did you think, for even a second, about how all of this reflects on us?”

“No. It’s not about you.”

For a beat, I thought Dad was going to explode. His mouth tightened. His eyes got wide. I shrank back against the steps.

Dad glanced around, quickly scanning the street. He dropped his right foot and leaned against the front of the house with one hand, moving on to the next stretch. If any neighbors were watching, all they would see was him going through his usual routine, me sitting nearby, watching him.

“You think this doesn’t reflect on us? You think what you do doesn’t damage and embarrass all of us?” Dad’s voice rang softly off the wall as he leaned forward. “You know what? Things are not going to go on like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t want you spending time with Tom Leung or Nikki Vega or Anders Larson anymore. They are
messed-up kids from messed-up families. You need better people in your life.”

“But they’re my friends.”
Don’t panic. Calm. Pitiful.
“They’re my
only
friends.”

Dad frowned. “What about Pierce?”

He might as well have said
What about your unicorn?

“Pierce?” I repeated. “He’s in
high school
. We’re not even in the same building anymore. And even if we were, he doesn’t—we aren’t—he hasn’t even talked to me in months.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Dad, we don’t—we’re just different people now. I have more in common with people like Nikki and Tom and—”

“God, I hope not,” Dad cut me off. “And if those are the kind of kids doing theater, maybe you shouldn’t be doing
any
plays for a while.”

These words tunneled straight through the mist. I felt each one of them hit me.

“What?” My voice came out in a weird, choked squeak.

Dad switched legs, going on with his routine as if everything in the world wasn’t falling apart. “You need to take a break. Focus on your grades. Try something new. Or go back to something else—tennis, volleyball, anything. But this”—he nodded toward me, his eyes still not meeting mine—“this isn’t you. This isn’t going to go on.”

I felt my chin start to wobble. “Dad. Please. You can’t make me stop forever.”

Dad sighed, exasperated. “Did I say forever? I said
for a while
.”

“No.” I was crying now. Not Katharine Hepburn crying. Not Meryl Streep crying. Ugly, out-of-control crying. “You can’t do this.”

“Keep your voice down,” Dad growled, jaw tight. “I am not discussing this in front of the entire neighborhood.”

“You can’t take this away from me! You can’t take
everything
away from me!”

“I’m done.” Dad lunged forward so suddenly that I cowered against the steps. But he just charged past me, up the steps, through the porch door. “No one can even talk to you when you’re like this. I’m finished.”

I sat on the porch steps for a long time, sobbing into my arms. Maybe neighbors were watching me. Maybe no one even noticed. I kept my face hidden and my posture as tragic as possible, just in case. Finally, when I couldn’t cry anymore and my toes had fallen asleep, I got up and trudged inside.

The house was quiet. All the lights except the one in the upstairs hall were turned off. Mom and Dad’s bedroom door was shut. I went to bed in my clothes.

Sometime just before dawn, I heard the front door thump again. I hurried to the window.

Dad ran up the sidewalk below me, looking fuzzy and faint in the lavender light. In seconds, he was gone.

We didn’t speak to each other for days.

In the end, I got to stay in the play. Mom must have softened. Dad didn’t come to any of the performances, and he didn’t come to the show I did that summer, either. Eventually Nikki and Tom were allowed to come over again, and things went on almost as usual, even though I could feel something emptier in the space between me and Dad, as if both of us had just taken two big steps back.

Sometimes, when I look out the window in that just-before-sunrise part of the morning, I can almost see him running away up our street, his body frozen in that hazy blue light, disappearing. Sometimes I wish I’d called out to him. Sometimes I wish I had run after him, even though I know I could never have caught up.

Y
ou
have
to hear this.” Tom grabbed me by the arm and yanked me down over the side of the stage.

Mr. Hall had just dismissed the cast, and everyone was forming little clumps of conversation. I could see Pierce in the seats far to the right, surrounded by a cluster of fairies. Tom, Nikki, Anders, and some others stood in a huddle just below the stage, laughing. When Tom pulled me down, I found myself wedged between Anders’s skinny arm and someone else’s shoulder.

I glanced up.

Rob Mason.

We’d had a test in anatomy that morning. Rob, as the new kid, was excused. He hadn’t even glanced at me when Mr. Ellison stopped him at the door and sent him to the library. But he looked at me now.

He gave me a quick, friendly smile. Then his eyes went back to Nikki.

“Wait, Nikki, start over,” Tom commanded. “Jaye missed the first part.”

I moved my arm just enough that Rob’s sleeve wouldn’t touch it. “What’s going on?”

“Okay.” Nikki rolled her eyes. “You know that guy I’ve been seeing?”

“That
college
guy,” said Anders.

“In a year, half our grade will be
college guys,
” Nikki shot back.

“Not third-year college guys,” said Tom.

Nikki smacked his arm. “He’s in his
second
year. Anyway, last night, my mother found out.”

“What?”
I asked. “How?”

“Because she was going through my drawers, like she does periodically. Which is why I keep everything
actually
incriminating in my car, or hidden at the bottom of the old toy chest in my closet.”

“Smart,” said Rob from beside me. “No one ever suspects a teddy bear.”

“Exactly. But Declan left one of his sketchbooks under my bed when he was over the other night.” She turned to Rob, explaining, “He’s an art student.”

“Of
course
he is,” Tom and I said at the same time.

Nikki smacked both of our arms.

“And his name is Declan?” asked Anders.

“Like Elvis Costello,” said Rob.

“Exactly!” Nikki’s face lit up. “Like Elvis Costello.”

“And he’s almost the same age as Elvis Costello too,” said Tom.

“Shut
up!
” Nikki smacked his arm for the third time, and Tom grabbed her in a restrictive bear hug.

“Anyway,” said Nikki, over the crook of Tom’s arm, “Declan’s name and address and phone number were written right there on the cover. And the sketchbook is from his life-drawing class . . .”

I started to laugh. “Oh, no.”

“. . . So the book is full of drawings of naked people. Mostly girls. And my mother decides that the guy who draws these must be some kind of perverted slut-monster, and that one of the girls in the drawings looks like me, even though
that
girl has long hair and is obviously about two feet taller than I am.”

Rob and Anders and I were all rocking with laughter now.

“Wait; it gets better,” said Tom.

“So,” Nikki continued, “I got to have dinner last night at Denny’s with my mother and her pastor. The
youth
pastor.”

“Oh, god!” I laughed. “Oily Eric?”

“Oily Eric. And he ordered some giant breakfast-for-dinner, five-thousand-calorie Denny’s thing, and then—I’m serious—he used the fried eggs and the sausage links to teach me about how—”

A hand landed on my shoulder.

We all looked up.

Pierce.

Anders stiffened, pinning his eyes to the floor. I remembered what Nikki had said about Pierce and Josh Hedlund and his other friends, rumors about the bloody things they’d left to rot in Anders’s locker. Everyone went quiet.

“Where’s your bag?” Pierce asked, ignoring them. “I’ll drive you home.”

“
Actually,
” said Nikki, “since rehearsal ended early, you could come out for coffee with us for a whole half hour and your mother would never even know. New Kid’s coming too. Right, New Kid?”

“Right,” said Rob.

“Come on.” Tom released Nikki from the bear hug and grabbed my hand. “We haven’t done this in
forever.
”

“You could come too, Pierce,” said Nikki, a little haltingly. “If you want.” She turned back to me. “So? Yes?”

“She can’t,” said Pierce.

Nikki frowned. “Why not?”

“Because. She can’t.”

“Wait. That was crazy.” Rob smiled, looking back and forth between me and Pierce. “Nikki asked
her
a question, but the answer came out of
your
mouth. Are you a ventriloquist?”

Pierce’s face tightened. “Is this any of your business?”

“Not really,” said Rob. His eyes came back to me. “I’m just trying to figure out how things work here.”

Pierce pulled me backward—fairly gently—and waited
until I met his eyes. “Are you going to risk doing this play for a cup of coffee?” he asked.

It was a good question.

I would have to be some sort of idiot to do that. The kind of idiot who was just about to run happily off with her friends. Breaking her promises. Forgetting her reasons for all of this.

“No. You’re right.” I turned back to the circle. “Sorry, everybody. I wish I could go.”

“Grab your stuff,” said Pierce, before anyone could answer me. “I’ll meet you at the doors.”

I lurched toward the corner where I’d left my coat and bag, disappointment curdling in my stomach. But Pierce was right. He was being mature and wise and responsible, just like I was supposed to be. Or at least pretend to be.

I reached the top of the aisle and looked back. The group had dissolved. Only Pierce and Rob stood in the space between the rows. Pierce reached out with one hand, not quite touching Rob’s chest, and said something that made Rob lean back. Then he turned away and stalked up the aisle toward me.

“What was that about?” I asked as we shoved through the doors into the chilly twilight. “What did you say to him?”

“To that Rob kid? Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah. Nothing.” Pierce met my eyes. His own were steady. “But just so you know, I’ve heard things about him. Like the reasons they’ve moved around so much. Why he’s gotten kicked out of so many schools.” Pierce’s voice got harder and louder as we reached the BMW. “You don’t need someone like that around you.”

“Oh my god. You sound just like—” I stopped.

Pierce didn’t prompt me.

We climbed into the car. There was a flash of motion in the rearview mirror, and I looked around to see Hamlet and Ophelia making out in the backseat. Delightful. I sank down in my own seat, feeling prickly and trapped and uncomfortably warm in spite of the freezing air.

Pierce steered the car out of the lot and accelerated up the street. He didn’t speak. I didn’t say anything either. And Hamlet’s and Ophelia’s mouths were too busy for talking, which was good, I guess. And awkward. And kind of gross. The ache in my head, which had maintained a low boil all day long, began to bubble faster. I closed my eyes. The car swayed and surged. I swayed along with it, feeling more and more irritated with the ice on the roads, with the kissing sounds from the backseat, with the gorgeous boy sitting next to me. Even if he was right. Maybe
because
he was right. Maybe because, with my eyes closed, I could practically see my father’s arm slung around his shoulders, his proud, pleased smile coating Pierce with its warmth.

Pierce turned a sharp corner, and the car slowed to a crawl, then stopped. Bright gold light slipped under my eyelids. I looked up.

“Wait.” I stared out at the big stone-and-glass house ahead of us, its facade hung with enough lights to help land an airplane. “This is
your
house.”

“I told Sadie I’d bring you straight home.” Pierce grinned at me. “So it wasn’t really a lie. It’s just
my
home.” He opened his door. “Plus, we’ve got that extra half hour.”

“But—”

“Come on.” He was already climbing out of the car. “I’ve got some stuff to show you.”

I hadn’t been inside the Caplans’ house in almost three years. And they’d moved to this place not long before that. After the expansion, when C&S Outdoor Outfitters went from one store to a chain, the Caplans had started turning up to get-togethers in their BMWs and sleek haircuts, bringing food and wine that definitely didn’t come from the supermarket. I guess their investment had paid off in ways that Dad’s hadn’t.

I blinked around the foyer. The Caplans’ new house was huge and minimalist, with shiny dark wood floors and chalk-white walls. The furniture looked like it had fallen out of a Scandinavian design magazine. Abstract paintings hung in carefully lit nooks. It was perfect. Like everything else about them.

Pierce’s mother, Michelle, was in the kitchen. She was a
clothing buyer for a big department store, and she’d always looked like I’d imagined Audrey Hepburn’s older sister would look—spare and elegant and effortlessly lovely. She looked up from a magazine as we walked in.

“Hi, honey. How was—” she began. Then her eyes locked on me.

The bare spot on my scalp suddenly felt even barer.

“Jaye?” She stepped closer. “Oh my goodness. It’s been such a long time.”

“Yeah.” I tipped my head, trying to conceal the scar, and put on my Vivien Leigh smile. “How are you?”

“How are
you?
” She took one of my hands. Hers was smooth and cool, with nails like petals. “We were so sorry to hear about your accident. God, your mother must have been . . .” She broke off, erasing her expression and putting on a brighter one. “Do you want a soda? Or can you stay for dinner? I was just going to order from Royal Thai.”

“I can’t. But thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Michelle still hadn’t let go of my hand.

I felt my cheeks getting hotter. I wanted to run away, hide my face inside my collar, transform into the kind of beautiful person who belonged in the Caplans’ gleaming glass-and-metal kitchen.

“We’re just going up to my room for a few minutes,” Pierce stepped in. “Then I’m driving her home.”

“All right. But help yourselves to anything in the kitchen if you change your mind.” Michelle leaned in and gave me
a quick kiss on the cheek. I could smell her delicate perfume. “So good to see you,” she whispered before picking up her coffee cup and wafting out of the room.

“Come on.” Pierce nodded toward the staircase. “I’ll try not to get you home too late.”

I followed him up the steps.

Like the rest of the house, Pierce’s room was white-walled, wood-floored, and expensively accessorized. A few books stood on the bookshelves between dozens of glinting trophies. World Cup posters and track photographs hung over the bed in subtle silver frames.

I touched the navy bedspread. “No more Star Wars?”

“I’m saving those for college.” Pierce grinned. “Have a seat.”

I sat down on the end of the bed as Pierce pulled a stack of boxes from the floor of the closet. Watching him open them felt too much like eavesdropping, so I stared across the room at the only object I recognized: a little plush wolf with a green collar. Wolfgang. Pierce used to bring him everywhere. Now he sat on the dresser between a skinny metal lamp and a silver MVP plaque.

“I can’t believe how clean you keep your room,” I said. “You’ve always been such a freak that way.”

“A freak who can actually find a pair of matching socks.” Pierce looked up from the boxes, grinning again. “How many times did I catch you wearing two different ones?”

“I don’t know. Infinity?”

“I bet you’re wearing them right now.” His hand flashed out and grabbed my ankle. “Let’s find out.”

“Don’t!” I giggled, writhing backward as Pierce started to pull off my shoe. “Give my socks their privacy!”

Pierce pulled my shoe the rest of the way off. “Say uncle.”

“Are you serious? Are we nine years old again?”

Pierce smiled wickedly. “Say it, or I’m going to tickle you under your toes.”

“No! Please!” I thrashed, laughing, but Pierce’s grip was tight. “Uncle.
Uncle!
”

Pierce released me, giving me another smile that made my entire rib cage vibrate. He pulled something out of the open box.

“Here it is.” He crossed in front of the bed, holding a bundle in both hands. He set it in my lap.

I looked down. The outside was a gray T-shirt, soft and weathered with washing and wearing.
WILSON HS TRACK
was printed on the front in dark red letters. On the back, in capitals, was the word
COACH
.

The room went watery. My hands shook so hard, I could barely unwrap the rest of the bundle.

Tucked inside the shirt was a pair of red-and-white shoes. Dad’s running shoes.

“I kept a couple of his things,” said Pierce, when I hadn’t spoken for several seconds. “You know. From when
he was staying here. I guess my mom called your mom, but she just said to donate all the rest of his stuff to charity. I thought—I don’t know. I just wanted to keep a couple of the important things.”

I dropped the edges of the shirt. The shoes lay inside it like scraps in a napkin. “What?”

Pierce blinked down at me. “What?”

“When he was staying here?”

“Yeah.” Pierce nodded. “You know. When he stayed with us for a while.”